Once upon a time, is how the old lie goes. For truth is light as leaves in the current, and time it ever flows. And a tale as old as this, with the conquest of love's true kiss, has been washed in the stream so long it's polished clean and oh does it ever gleam.
A tale of a woman named for a face so fair, who disarmed a man made beast of hair and tooth and claw, conquered his despair and enkindled a love so rare it should be treasured. A tale with a third and fourth actor; both the malefactor, one reviled and one forgotten. The hunter, the boaster, the village's leading man, who when the mob came to break the gate he lead it from the van. And the other villain, forgotten save for a wilting rose, whose curse enclosed both servant and serf for a sin one should suppose no worse than demanding an inkeeper's toll.
This is the tale we are told, a story washed clean of vagaries old. True love triumphant, a future of idle comfort, and of greatest import; happily ever after.
And pried loose from the tale; inconvenient truth. Ever the first casualty in a fable to be told to tomorrow's youth.
But this tale as old as time is in my hands now, reader mine. And this song as old as rhyme has some darker notes to play. Bundle up, if you're made of sterner stuff, and let me tell you a tale.
We begin on a dark night. A night so laden with stars the new moon blots the heavens in a spherical scar. A night where candles show their brightest glow, and lanterns lay across a cobbled way, little soldiers to keep the dark away. And with the jingle and tingle of bells, up this luminous street came a lady most fell.
She rode a carriage of ivory and gold, glittered more brightly than the stories your mother told. She sat upon cushions of crimson satin, and wore jewels found before men spoke Latin. Her hair and skin like the two faces of the moon; curls black and twisted like the midnight water, skin paler than silver in a coffer. To call her beautiful would demean the matter, as well call the sky blue for all it would flatter.
And she came with the storm, though none — not even she — knew it.
To this night of lights and such fair sights, she rode to a palace on a hill. The warm hearth fires shone from the castle's spires, a tribute to the rising sun. Laughter rode and music flowed, the air tasted of perfume and wine. Past ivory'd gates her fate awaits, a prince lay inside.
She came to a stop and crossed the footman's block, grey dress shone like silver mist. Servants bowed, eyes held at the ground, guardsman and maid all suitably cowed. She smiled down as she passed, her graciousness a porcelain mask, and none looked up as she knew they would.
The hall doors parted, and trumpets rang out to announce her. But a portly man threw himself in her path, and her blood burned at the slur. She was brought to stop, like a beggar at a town hall, but she smiled sweetly and said, "monsieur. So bold a maid might gasp. I cannot help admire it, even as you reach far beyond your grasp."
He wilted 'neath her words, a flower caught in first frost. His puffy cheeks sagged, his waistcoat bagged, as he quailed before the lady he crossed. But "madam," said he, and reached far beyond his station. "Do you, by chance, have an invitation?"
From frost to winter full beneath her scrutiny, her scorn unveiled. On this warm summer night the servants could see their breath and the gardens in frost were scaled. "Servants, like furnishings, are meant to improve the comfort of your betters. They should dare not impede, lest you find yourself in fetters."
From eyes gone wide the servant's monocle tumbled. His voice gave out, his words stumbled. And a reassuring hand fell on his shoulder, a gentle whisper to move over, and another servant joined the fray. He bowed halfway to the floor, gestured through the open door, and said, "allow us to see you to the fete."
The man was well poised for a servant, thin and reedy, and a look that was entirely too observant. "Lead on, oh candlestick," the lady replied, near the end of what she ought to abide. It would amuse her to take this household to task.
No more conversation, nothing to rankle her anticipation, as this servant lead her thorough the hall. Maids hurried to the door, servants kept their eyes to the floor, and the guardsman tried to press themselves into the wall.
Hardly a hundred steps to the great hall. The servant bowed and said, "welcome to the ball. And be assured, lady, you are our guest. Our command is your request."
She did not deign to be conversant. He was, after all, just a servant.
The great hall opened, resplendent in its riches and majestic in its pageantry. Lords in silks and ladies in gowns, a sea of the greatest finery. Here in this hall, France's very créme de la créme, and at its heart, her quarry, a prince among men. At the eye of this storm he dance and twirled, and lead this sea of gowns as it whirled. His laughter a roar, flowing blonde hair a mane on his head. Here was a lion in his pride, with a hundred ears turned to hear what he said.
The lady shivered in delight, anticipating the path of the hour. And she spun herself an enchantment, a fey sort of glamour. And one by one neath the chandelier's sun, the eyes turned upon the lady. From close to far until even the corners of the room drew a breath and held it. A hundred eyes on her countenance, anticipation a pen in its well, and the moment waiting to be writ.
Her own eyes swept the crowd, like a finger raised to the wind. And she saw from eye to eye, the entire room entwined. In her will, her glamour, her beauty, they were suitably entranced, to help seduce a prince at last. She smiled — cat to mouse, fox to rabbit, wolf to deer — and said "my prince, it is a joy to be here."
The prince took a step towards her, a single, simple gesture. And at his unspoken command the crowd parted, to leave him to her pleasure. Her glamour grew brighter, like a noose getting tighter, and she had them under her spell. The prince kissed her hand and said, "I am enchanted," and oh what a truth to tell.
The lady's face was flushed indeed. Though, it should be known, the cause was thoughts of greed. She had this prince in the palm of her hand, and was about to tighten her grip. "I have dreamt of this," the lady spoke, to deepen her glamour, and not let the harness slip.
But a clatter in the corner threatened to shake the prince from her power, and leave her efforts for naught. His head turned to an old woman near the door with an overturned cart and murmured, "Mrs Potts." The lady looked in his stormcloud-blue eyes, saw him still beguiled by her wiles, and saw her worries weren't urgent. She scoffed and made a sneer, and in a whisper for only his ear, derisively said, "servants."
Now, enchantments are fragile things; they fey magic fragile as any magician's trick. And even this fell lady's glamour, once cracked, will shatter frightfully quick. The prince, eyes now as stormy as their colour suggests, looked at the lady with just a moment's derision. And in that instant her sorcery unravelled, and he saw her with clear vision. "Lady," said the prince, and like the lion's roar across the plain, his pride stirred swift. "Surely, a woman of such nobility, coming unannounced to my name-day, has brought me a gift?"
And thus her glamour was undone; in a single question her station fell far; from fated lady to uninvited beggar. It was all she could do to conjure a rose in full bloom, and hope it weregild enough to avoid her doom. But her hope was shattered fast, like begging for mercy 'neath the headman's axe. The prince sneered at her offer, "the gift of a pauper, and might be from my own garden. See yourself gone, and darken not my hall. I would not have you here, ere the dawn."
And so the enchantress stood at the heart, not of adoration, but scorn. And as her ears will filled with biting derision, she held up a hand meant to warn. "Surely, good prince, you would not cast me out into the storm. Throwing a guest from your hall is far from the norm, I might even dare call it poor form."
The prince swept his arms, and glittered did his gallant uniform. He looked up at the vaulted ceiling and asked, "what storm?"
And thunder answered.
The chandeliers went dim as the night turned grim, as the lady cast aside her glamour. Before an enchantress enraged, her power uncaged, this noble assemblage could only cower. The windows shattered, banners turned to tatters, and the howling wind carried ice. Noble blood spilt and stained, valour forgotten cowardice reigned, and the lords and ladies fled like mice.
"You dare, little mortal fool?" the lady asked, her voice thunderous and cruel. "I grace your hall, offer myself at your ball, and you behold me as less than these frightened geese? See my heart an ugly thing, as if you deserved to allow yourself such a vice? I curse you, doom you to heartache and worse, and so take as vengeance my price."
And as the assemblage fled, the lady raised her finger to the prince's bowed head. "I curse you, at the least, to ten years as a beast. A creature of hair, fangs, and claws, to give even the kindest heart pause, a guise no one will see through. And so you will remain, to live until the day someone can truly see you."
At the lady's words the prince form blurred, and churned, and twisted grotesque. Hair brown and long grew where it did not belong, and new bulk broke through his formal dress. Fingers now claws, capping fearsome paws, less man and more a bear. He howled in pain, shook his shaggy mane, and howled in vain o'er fate unfair.
A monster now, he threw himself at the lady, teeth and claws like gleaming steel. But the lady smiled as she pointed at her feet and said, "kneel." And the beast collapsed like a burlap sack, as if crushed neath a mountain's weight. "And thus," said the lady, "I now pronounce your fate. A beast you stay, until your very last day, or you find my beauty within. Should you learn to love, and be loved in return, you'll undo this beastly sin. And you have no recourse, you'll love me of course, when I return in ten years. I promise this, you'll find no other. For who could learn to love a beast?"
The lady turned away, but snapped her fingers, "I forget the last act in this play. A prince, even with your aberration, should have vassals befitting his station. A castle well furnished with servants, with clocks and candlesticks who can be endlessly observant. Yes, endlessly observant, victims of your pride, until you finally break, and declare yourself mine."
Her words spoken, her will awoken, the castle was both transformed and forgotten. A palace betwitched, now buried in a forest dark and rotten. And ten long years would pass, the prince would far from madness pass, and be afraid for his release. For who but the lady fell, who held his world beneath her spell, could ever learn to love a beast?